


When You Leave

by hdarchive



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Rimming, Step-Sibling Incest, stepbrothers!klaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine are step-brothers who really, absolutely, entirely hate each other. Honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Leave

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I am going to hell for this one. But I couldn't proceed with writing anything else until I got this darn idea out of my head. Where it came from, I do not want to know, but this was the funnest thing I've ever written. 
> 
> Additional warning just in case: they're under the influence of alcohol at one point, just in case that bothers anybody!

 

His dad getting remarried was not part of Kurt’s life plan.

Getting two new brothers at the age of twelve was most definitely not part of that plan, because not in his wildest dreams would he ever wish for that.

It still happened.

When you’re that young, nobody listens to you. Adults look down at you and laugh and coo and shoo you away to go play with your toys, so nobody listened to him when he said that his dad marrying Pam Anderson would be the worst thing to ever happen.

She was a nice woman, dressed well and didn’t have any annoying habits at least. Just two sons, who sort of made up for her lack of annoyingness.

Cooper was loud, always playing music and always slamming his bedroom door shut and always leaving his belongings all over the house for Kurt to pick up and put away. But he was cute, and he never made fun of Kurt, so he was okay.

Then there was Blaine. Who was his age. Who was just a little bit shorter than him but acted like he was bigger and older and better than him.

He hated Blaine.

There weren’t enough rooms in the house of course, and because adults don’t listen, don’t care, they thought that since the two of them were the same age they must get along, must share the same interests, and that sharing a room would be the most fabulous idea.

No.

He hated Blaine.

“Kurt, it’s my room too, you don’t get to decide what colour we’re painting the walls,” Blaine had yelled, chasing him up the stairs as Kurt ran for _his_ room, and he was angry and furious because Blaine always got his way but it was his room, he was not painting the walls orange just because it was Blaine’s favourite colour.

“It’s my room, I was here first,” Kurt had yelled back, and slammed the door hard behind himself, hopefully on Blaine’s face, huffing and puffing and so darn angry he could scream. “Go back to your own house!”

After that, he divided up the room. Blaine got the smaller side, the side where the baseboards didn’t work so he’d always be cold. He also labelled everything, his initials stickered to almost every object he owned, just in case Blaine decided to steal more of his belongings.

He hated Blaine.

Blaine went to a fancy school, where he had to wear a uniform with a tie and his hair slicked down and back, a school that cost a lot of money. Kurt didn’t really care, because his school was just fine. He almost preferred it, because it meant Blaine was never really home.

When they started high school, Blaine went to a new school, a boarding school, and only came back on weekends.

Once he found a pair of Blaine’s underwear on his side of the room. He remembers typing out an angry detailed letter, full of threats involving burning many of Blaine’s possessions, and then taping it to Blaine’s pillow for the next time he’d be home.

Never again did he find Blaine’s stuff on his side of the room.

He hated Blaine.

When they were fifteen, Cooper came home for the summer to work and help out around the house.

Kurt fell in love with him, he’s pretty sure. Because his heart would beat quicker and he’d feel hot all over and stutter his words and squeak out his breath whenever Cooper would get close to him.

Blaine noticed.

Blaine announced it to everybody at a family gathering, to his grandma and all their aunts and uncles and cousins, that the reason they were all gathered was to announce Kurt and Cooper’s engagement.

For some reason, almost everyone believed him.

Blaine spent the entire night sitting outside their bedroom door, knocking weakly every few minutes and saying, “Kurt, I’m really sorry, please let me in.”

Then there was that time that Blaine found out Kurt was ticklish, so he kept poking him, surprising him and rubbing his fingers over Kurt’s ribs and then running away, only to sneak back and poke him again. Kurt finally chased him back one day, feeling childish because he was sixteen and he was engaging in a tickle fight, but Blaine had to pay.

Except Blaine was a lot more agile than him, turning the tables and chasing him back, into their room and pushing him on the bed and crawling up over his body, pinning his wrists down as Kurt thrashed and squealed and laughed and kicked and Blaine -

Blaine just stared at him, horrified at first, and then something in his eyes darkened and then he started rubbing over Kurt’s thigh, just a bit, and Kurt knew what he was doing but he didn’t make him stop, maybe because he was scared maybe because he liked how it felt -

But it was something they weren’t supposed to be doing, not together, and Blaine quickly got off, ran away, and he never tickled Kurt again.

He hated Blaine all the way up until graduation, when Blaine finished at Dalton and Kurt finished at McKinley and they both went their separate ways. Kurt went to New York and Blaine went travelling.

He still hates Blaine. It’s just that he never sees Blaine, so he can’t actively make himself.

But he has to go home eventually.

-

His dad and Pam’s wedding hadn’t been extravagant, or special, but it was eight years ago and he did spend a good portion of it crying and pouting, so he can’t really say if it were great or not.

Their parents are renewing their vows, and this time they’re pulling out all the stops.

Kurt knows this, because he’s the one planning it, just getting off the phone with the pigeon handler, telling them what brand of glitter to feed them. It almost feels like closure, getting to plan the wedding that he never wanted to happen. Yesterday they picked up Pam’s dress from alterations, tomorrow they’ll go pick up the cake, and today -

Today he’s tie shopping with Blaine, who sent Kurt three emails last month saying he wasn’t participating in any wedding where the colour scheme for the groomsmen is green.

“For the last time,” Kurt snaps, arms crossed and patience waning as Blaine stands in front of a mirror, holding up two ‘different’ coloured ties to his face. “There is no difference between burnt orange and rust. Just pick one.”

“Easy for you to say,” Blaine sneers back, glaring at Kurt through the mirror. “You can’t even tell the difference between fuchsia and lilac.”

Kurt rubs his fingers into his eyes and groans. “If you don’t pick a tie soon I am going to strangle you with one.”

Blaine makes a considering face, nose scrunching up as he eyes the ties carefully, holding one up and then the other, before finally turning around to face Kurt and sighing.

“Why don’t we just go with bowties?”

Kurt’s shoulders drop and his patience snaps as he yells, “Blaine!”

They leave with both colours.

-

“You went to boarding school, you’re telling me you don’t know how to tie a tie!”

“It’s not like riding a bike, Kurt, okay? I forget!”

Kurt grabs the tie - burnt orange - and pulls it around Blaine’s neck, maybe yanking it a bit too hard, tugging Blaine forward and making him stumble a little.

“I told you in the email to be here at ten. What time did you show? Ten-thirty. I told you in the email to come with your suit pressed. Where was your suit? At the drycleaners,” Kurt gripes, muttering under his breath as he works the tie into a knot and gives it another yank, causing Blaine to squeak. “Now we’re almost behind schedule thanks to you, and you don’t even know how to tie a tie!”

“I just said I was sorry!” Blaine yelps, eyes flickering from Kurt’s hands up to his face. “The day’s going to be fine, Kurt. Relax.”

He tenses up, shuts his eyes and tries to breathe, because he can’t relax. His dad is getting married (sort of) to a woman that is not his mom and it’s been several years but he still feels like a child again, being ignored and disregarded, so he can’t relax, not when this is his chance to reclaim his place and have a say in things.

“Don’t mess anything else up for me,” Kurt says with finality, fingers still enclosed around the knot of Blaine’s tie, holding it up tightly against his neck. “Or else I’ll make sure you pay for it.”

“ _I’ll make sure you pay for it,_ ” Blaine says, voice much higher, mimicking him, then sticks his tongue out.

Kurt hates him, honestly, he does.

-

The ceremony goes fine, he doesn’t even cry all that much, but the reception is what really matters.

Pam wanted fireworks and flame dancers and sword eaters. Kurt was able to convince her that a classic romantic theme would suit the occasion better, so instead of all that they have lanterns and soft yellow lights strung all around, flower petals spread out across every table, candles and pink-white-yellow floral arrangements that miraculously do not scream old age/sick grandma.

It’s beautiful, even if somewhere along the line he messed up the seating arrangement, because he most definitely remembers placing Blaine at the end of the family table, far away from him, so he’s not sure how Blaine ended up right next to him.

There’s a harsh nudge at his ankle, but he remains the very picture definition of composure and class, smiling at the people around him even when there’s another harsh nudge, even when that nudge turns into a full on kick.

He slams his champagne glass down and turns violently towards Blaine, who looks at him innocently.

“What?” he hisses, hand curling tightly around his fork, contemplating stabbing it through Blaine’s hand, which calmly rests right next to his.

Blaine leans over, too close, and stage-whispers, “If you could kindly stop staring at _your_ brother like you want to devour him, it’d be doing us all a favour.”

At first Kurt scoffs, because he wasn’t even aware he was making it obvious that he was staring at Cooper, and then he sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that he got all the good genes and left you with a few missing chromosomes.”

Blaine kicks his ankle again, but doesn’t take his foot away, so Kurt nudges him in the ribs, a little too hard but he doesn’t care.

“Hey!” Blaine yelps, twisting away from Kurt. “Watch the suit, I _just_ had it pressed.”

Blaine nudges him back, not with his elbow but with his entire hand, tickling at Kurt’s side a little.

Kurt slaps his hand away and shoves at him, spitting out, “Don’t touch my suit with your grubby hands!”

Blaine’s about to shove him back when they hear somebody laugh, and they both look up at their parents, who are smiling from ear to ear.

“Twenty years old and they still act like they’re twelve,” Pam says, shaking her head.

His dad laughs and sighs. “I hope they never change.”

-

The night loses its touch of elegance and class once dinner finishes and the wine/beer/champagne starts flowing more, the music getting louder and crazier, and this is not what he had planned, but there’s too much champagne in his system for him to even think of a complaint.

He sits at their table and watches everyone dance, finally feeling that satisfaction, of being heard and appreciated and loved, finally feeling like maybe he can accept what his family is now.

Cooper comes up to him, completely wasted and his words slurring, hand outstretched for Kurt to take, and even though his mind is buzzing and his body’s on the verge of floating, he hesitates.

He hesitates for too long of a second, because just when he’s about to take Cooper’s hand to dance, Blaine cuts in and grabs Kurt, pulling him back and away.

“Hey, what -” Kurt squawks, looking confusedly between the two brothers, and Cooper just laughs and shrugs and slinks back into the crowd of dancing people.

He doesn’t get an immediate answer from Blaine either, Blaine enclosing their fingers together with one hand, using the other arm to wrap around Kurt’s waist and pull him closer.

“I don’t want you getting any wild ideas with my brother,” Blaine says accusingly, eyes sharp.

Kurt tenses for a second, but Blaine’s moving too fast for him to stay that way, so he melts, sighs and brings his arms up to wrap around Blaine’s neck.

“I thought he was my brother,” he says back teasingly.

“ _Our_ brother,” Blaine corrects himself, tugging at Kurt’s waist for emphasis.

They’re not the best dancers, because they can’t even have a conversation without trying to kill each other, and dancing is a lot harder than talking. Blaine keeps stumbling, stepping on Kurt’s shoes, and Kurt keeps going tense when Blaine looks at him too long, losing his rhythm.

“I thought you were the leader of the Garblers,” Kurt says, looking down to where Blaine’s feet are going crazy. “Didn’t they teach you how to not step on your partner’s toes?”

Blaine looks down too, then scoffs, pulls Kurt closer. “The _Warblers_. And yes, they did, but coincidentally enough your partner has to be human, not part giraffe.”

“I’m doing just fine -”

“I’m going to spin you now.”

It’s almost an order, and Kurt finds himself just letting Blaine, ducking a little to fit under Blaine’s arm and spinning out, only to be twirled back into Blaine’s arms and held tight.

Their finesse, whatever there was to begin with, vanishes, and they settle for just swaying together, Kurt not really minding that Blaine’s arm is still across his lower back, that Blaine’s fingers are still wrapped tightly around his.

“So,” Blaine says casually, but he averts his eyes and looks to the side. “New York, huh? You’re going back after this?”

“Mhm,” Kurt hums. “Come September first, that is.”

“Just when I’m moving back into the house,” Blaine sighs dramatically, hand slipping further down Kurt’s back.

Kurt smirks and nods. “I have impeccable timing.”

“But you’re coming back to visit, right?”

Suddenly Blaine’s voice is deeper, darker, not kidding or teasing or taunting, but Kurt’s mind can’t process it all at once, following a bit too slowly.

He frowns, nose wrinkling. “Have you been drinking?”

“Kurt, just -” Blaine stops dancing all together, both of them just standing there with their hands entwined. “Are you going to come back?”

He keeps frowning but doesn’t pull his hand away, not even when Blaine’s hand squeezes his tighter.

“Of course. I could never leave my dad hanging like that.”

Blaine’s expression isn’t readable, but then it forms into a pout, his bottom lip sticking out. “But what about the rest of us?”

Kurt laughs, sways their hands. “I’ll miss your mom too, I guess.”

“Kurt.”

Blaine’s breath smells like the burn of alcohol, and he looks so strangely hopeful, but Kurt can’t really place it.

“And you.”

Blaine’s pout brightens into a smile, but then it sharpens into that evil wicked smirk that Blaine only uses for Kurt, and his voice is smug as he says, “Don’t cry on me now, Kurt.”

Kurt laughs and shoves him backwards, rolling his eyes as he says, “Is there a moment you can’t ruin?”

Blaine’s hand is quick to find his again, and Kurt takes it so easily, letting Blaine pull him away.

“Come on, if we’re going to survive the rest of this night we’ll need some liquid courage.”

-

He’s known Blaine for eight years, and they have never gone more than five minutes together without breaking out into a fight.

Tonight, they’ve gone hours.

Maybe it’s hours. Maybe it’s days. Maybe time doesn’t even exist, because it doesn’t feel like it does. He’s not even that drunk, still able to think things without saying them out loud, can still control his actions mostly, he just can’t control how hard he’s laughing with Blaine.

They sit at a table in the back, pointing out random family members on either sides of their family and laughing at them, making fun of them, saying things they really shouldn’t but they can’t stop. He thinks it’s just the alcohol, because without it he’d never talk to Blaine like this, he _hates_ Blaine.

Blaine, who sits so close to Kurt, keeping one arm behind Kurt’s back absentmindedly, leaning too far into his personal space, but tonight Kurt doesn’t mind.

“I should - I should try and find my way home,” Blaine says, a little slurry, tipping his head to rest his cheek against Kurt’s shoulder. “Come wait for a cab with me?”

Kurt shakes his shoulder until Blaine groans and pulls away, then smiles. “What do I get out of it?”

“You -” Blaine starts off, standing up and grabbing Kurt’s hand, pulling him up to his feet. “Get to wait for a cab . . . with me! How great is that?”

He just sighs, not putting up a fight, and lets Blaine tug him through the reception tent, through the country club’s lobby and outside, far to the side, and the summer air is so much warmer, the glow from the parking lot lights making it feel almost like daytime.

“Do you have a cab number?” Kurt asks, a bit dazed, a bit dizzy, searching his pockets for his phone. “We might as well share one, we’re both going back to the same place, I should go back and say bye -”

Blaine cuts him off, pushing him back until he hits the wall of the building, hands roaming up and down Kurt’s arms, up to his shoulders. “How much are you - how much are you going to miss me, Kurt? Because you’ve never missed me before.”

Kurt struggles to get over the shock of being shoved against a hard surface, over the shock of Blaine’s hands on his shoulders, face so close, and stammers a bit before saying, “A lot - I - I’ll miss you a lot.”

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

One of Blaine’s hands travels down Kurt’s chest, tugging at his tie and wrapping it around his fist. “Show me just how much you’ll miss me.”

Still not able to catch up, Kurt’s brow furrows and he stares at Blaine’s hands, his lips, his eyes, and asks slowly, “Show you how?”

Blaine doesn’t answer. Blaine shoves him back, hands on his waist, body closing in on his, and kisses him.

Kurt swears he was just about to suggest that himself, really, if he could just get his brain to work -

His first instinct is to grab at Blaine’s hair, grimacing a little at the gel that sticks to his fingers but he’s able to work through the curls and find some sort of grip, tugging and tightening as he opens his mouth for Blaine, thrilling hot along every vein when Blaine’s tongue brushes his.

Time really doesn’t exist, it can’t, because just like that Blaine’s spreading Kurt’s legs apart with his foot, nudging his knee between Kurt’s thighs until Kurt’s stance widens, and starts rocking his hips forward, grinding himself against Kurt’s thigh. Like that time when they were sixteen and they knew they shouldn’t and they couldn’t but they sort of really wanted to.

And he’s hot, so hot, hard and warm and solid as he slides his erection along Kurt’s thigh and Kurt’s hand goes tighter in Blaine’s hair, not even thinking, not even registering that this is something they should never in their lives be doing.

He doesn’t think that, instead he thinks of the next thing they should do (that they really shouldn’t be doing) and flips them around, pins Blaine against the wall this time, hand playfully twisting in his stupid tie and flinging it up to hit him in the face.

“Has this been your plan all night?” he asks, voice rough and slow and deep, laughing breathlessly, leaning his entire weight against Blaine.

Blaine grins, hands on Kurt’s back travelling down. “This has been my plan all my life.”

Kurt laughs again, harsh and heavy against Blaine’s neck, and he kisses the sweat-slick skin there, smelling like cologne, warm and comforting and something so familiar, suddenly so close.

“Well, you’re not Cooper,” he says, hands fiddling between them, grabbing at Blaine’s belt. “But you’ll have to do.”

He looks around at their surroundings, the empty parking lot a little ways away from them, the two of them standing at the corner of the building where the light doesn’t quite reach. It’s crazy, this he knows, this he can tell even with his brain buzzing, but he wants it.

He pokes Blaine in the stomach as he sinks to his knees, smirking when Blaine squeaks. His hands move like he’s not really controlling them, undoing Blaine’s belt and quickly pulling his pants down, a little sad that they have to touch the ground (they were just pressed) but they must be dirty by now anyway.

When he touches Blaine, he feels heat all the way up his arm, through his chest and then tugging down, all his insides twisting hot, tight, and he swallows thickly and stares at Blaine’s cock, because well - maybe he’s always imagined it, maybe he’s always wanted to imagine it, but never wanted to think about it or him because, well, he hates Blaine, and by letting thoughts like that into his brain it’s letting Blaine win somehow.

Still, Blaine’s cock is heavy and hard in his hand and it’s every single dream (or nightmare) come true, and he knows just what to do, sliding his hand up, down, a little too dry and a little too jerky, but only because he wants to hear Blaine curse, wants Blaine’s knees to shake a bit, and they do.

“F-fu- Kurt -”

He spits into his hand, not chancing licking it because he’s touched a lot of things tonight, and starts working his hand along Blaine’s length, quick rough strokes, letting his thumb trace over the vein that runs along Blaine’s cock, all the way up to his head.

“Where - where did you learn how - oh my god oh shit -”

Blaine’s hands scramble at Kurt’s shoulders, then grab at the back of his head, roughly yanking at his hair but Kurt doesn’t mind.

He smirks and shrugs, leans forward a little to briefly lick over the slit, just to tease, just to taste.

“Myself.”

Blaine tosses his head back, entire body jolting, hips jerking forward and cock pulsing hotly in Kurt’s hand, and he hisses, “This entire time - we could have been - this -”

Kurt stops moving his hand, and looks up at Blaine, smirk and coyness gone, not even sure how he feels in this moment now that he’s been given the chance to think.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

But then he can’t wait any longer, mouth watering a bit but still feeling dry, tongue licking over his lips so much they’re going to be irreparably dry, but he can’t stop, has to do something with it.

Blaine’s fingers twist, making Kurt gasp, and he realizes his sense of urgency is nowhere near as bad as Blaine’s, who’s fully erect and leaking at the tip, hips jerking forward on their own accord every few seconds.

He thinks quickly, a half second at most, that maybe they should stop. But once the half second is over he leans in and brings his lips to open up around Blaine’s cock, moaning but not meaning to when his lips glide over the head, down along his shaft, tasting heady and salty and warm and still so familiar.

He’s a bit overeager he realizes, starting fast, taking as much of Blaine as he can, thick and wide as he stretches his mouth, heavy along his tongue, his scent and taste everywhere. Blaine’s grip tightens at the back of his head when Kurt starts making noises. Not really meaning to, but he can’t exactly breathe properly, especially when Blaine starts losing control, starts thrusting his hips forward and sinking his cock all the way in, bumping the back of Kurt’s throat so perfectly it burns.

He lets Blaine do most of the work, jaw aching as he keeps his mouth stretched open for Blaine, feeling him everywhere. From the hand at the back of his head, to the way Blaine pumps his hips forward, sinking his cock in and in and in to Kurt and then out, fucking his mouth. And he knows he’s hard and trapped in his pants but he can’t focus on that, can only focus on how hot Blaine feels in his mouth, just how much hotter it can get.

“Kurt, I’m - gonna - Kurt -” Blaine pants, pulling hard at his hair, but Kurt doesn’t move, keeps sucking on Blaine, trying to get what he wants out of him, a little desperately.

His hands frame either side of Blaine’s hips, feeling the tension there as Blaine strains forward, hips stuttering as he starts to come, and Kurt presses his fingers in deep, needs something to ground him, ground Blaine, as he falls apart.

It’s hot and too much and too little and bitter and perfect, along Kurt’s tongue and down his throat and a little bit spilling out along his lips. Blaine groans, loud and echoing through the parking lot, and pulls at Kurt’s hair so hard Kurt hisses and nips at Blaine’s wrist.

“Holy -” Blaine gasps, slumping against the wall, watching with wide eyes as Kurt swallows a few times, licks over his lips. “Kurt - shit.”

Kurt wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand and sighs, throat burning and eyes stinging. “No evidence.”

He tugs Blaine’s pants back up, buckles the belt for him and pats his crotch gently, as if in reassurance.

Blaine’s still leaning against the wall trying to catch his breath, knees shaking and hair a mess.

“Does that show you?” Kurt asks, a bit drowsily, eyes heavy and tired.

Blaine has to roll his head over to look at Kurt, eyes wide and cheeks red, chest heaving.

“Kurt,” Blaine says breathlessly, bringing a hand up and cupping Kurt’s cheek. “I am really going to miss you.”

-

Life goes back to the way it was.

In all honesty, he doesn’t remember much about that night. Blaine never brings it up, so he leaves it to rest, which is for the better because if he thinks about it too much then he starts to remember bigger and bigger pieces.

Which isn’t so bad, but -

It can’t happen again, so there’s no point.

He goes back to New York and works hard at his internship and even harder in school, and forgets all about his family back in Lima.

Until winter rolls around. He can’t afford to go back for Thanksgiving and Christmas, so he settles for Christmas, loading up one suitcase with gifts and another with outfits to last him the two weeks he’ll be there.

“You’re going to have to share the room with Blaine again,” his dad tells him on the drive home from the airport. “He’s sorta made it his own since being home.”

Kurt groans and thumps his head against the window. “Don’t tell me he painted the walls orange.”

His dad laughs and shrugs. “I don’t wanna ruin the surprise.”

“Great, well, at least we know one of us isn’t surviving long enough to see Christmas.”

“He’s really grown up, Kurt,” his dad says, casting his eyes curiously towards Kurt, and Kurt freezes, stops, entire face shading red because his dad sounds like he knows something. “And you have too, so give it a chance. Might be a bit easier now that you’re both adults.”

He thumps his head against the window again, stays there with his forehead pressed against the cold glass, to cool his face because suddenly it’s so hot.

“I hope so.”

-

Nope.

Nope nope nope.

He throws his suitcase onto the floor a little carelessly, spinning around the room, which has been completely rearranged since he was last here. And -

Is that underwear? On his side of the room?

“Blaine!” he yells, pacing around the floor, picking stuff up and throwing them towards where Blaine’s side should be. “You are not putting that dresser there and - oh my god, where did you find that lamp it looks like my dead great-aunt’s and - what do you even call this colour?”

Blaine just smirks. “Burnt orange-rust.”

He groans, loud and frustrated, and pushes Blaine’s chest so he goes stumbling back onto his bed. “I leave you alone for a few months and this is what you do? Tomorrow we’re going straight to Home Depot and then -”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, calmly, standing up and walking towards Kurt, and his stupid face is so charming and so smug that Kurt wants to punch him. “You don’t live here anymore. This is my room.”

He sighs out all his breath and turns to leave, ready to pull out his hair, and yells out over his shoulder, “I wish you never moved in here!”

Blaine runs up and grabs the door frame, yells down the hall after him, “Yeah, well I wish you were never born!”

The door slams, and Kurt wants to scream.

-

Monopoly is not a good game to play under any circumstances.

Playing Monopoly with a family where two of its members want the other dead . . . well, that’s even worse.

Cooper is out first, not buying enough property because he wants to hoard all his money, only to run out more and more with every turn. Then his dad, and Kurt thinks it’s just because he doesn’t want to upset Pam, but then Pam is out, landing on one of Blaine’s hotels.

Then it’s just them.

At first everyone watches and laughs, Blaine rolling the dice and being lucky enough to miss Kurt’s property by one space. Except that keeps happening, Blaine keeps missing, and Kurt thinks the whole game is rigged and after thirty or so minutes, the rest of the family sighs and gives up, saying goodnight and then leaving.

But he’s not giving up. No way. He didn’t invest in Boardwalk only to have Blaine skip right over it and collect two hundred dollars when he passes go.

“Kurt, it’s past midnight,” Blaine groans, both hands on either side of his head, pulling at his hair. “It’s time to give up.”

Kurt shakes his head furiously and rolls the dice, throwing them down onto the board and moving his game piece. “Not until you land on Boardwalk.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“I’ll make it happen!”

“I will pay you actual money, Kurt, please.”

“You can’t afford how much it would cost to pay me off.”

Kurt almost yells in frustration when he lands on a chance space and gets a ‘go directly to jail’ card, and Blaine laughs, rolls the dice and moves his game piece and lands on his own property, remaining safe for another turn.

“Okay, how about this? I’ll let you put the room back to the way it was,” Blaine says, sounding too hopeful. “And I’ll consider changing the colour.”

He presses his lips together and thinks, but the irritation of letting Blaine win eats away at his heart and he refuses to let go that easily, so he shakes his head and spits, “No.”

“Okay . . . well, then . . . I’ll tell everybody what we did at the vow renewal.”

Kurt drops the dice, hears them scatter across the board, and then hears a ringing in his ears, panic and dread screaming at him.

That was supposed to be confidential, right? Does this mean Blaine has told other people? It was a drunken mistake, a secret they would both take to their graves he wouldn’t he can’t -

“You wouldn’t,” he whispers, eyes wide and horrified.

Blaine grins. “I will.”

“It’ll tear the family apart!”

“Maybe I want it to!”

“Blaine!”

“Give up the game, Kurt!”

“Never!” he shouts, and picks up the dice to roll them again, determined and wishing for doubles to get out of jail.

He doesn’t get doubles, and he only wants to cry a little bit, really.

Blaine picks up the dice, but doesn’t roll them, and Kurt opens his eyes out of curiosity, to see why Blaine isn’t doing anything, only to find that Blaine’s just - staring at him.

“What if I repaid the favour?”

Entire body freezing over, Kurt gulps and swallows, no alcohol in his system this time to help him process his thoughts.

“Meaning?”

Blaine’s stoic face melts, smirk twitching up at the corners of his mouth, and he nods at the stairs and whispers, “If you can promise to keep quiet.”

Turns out he really doesn’t need alcohol to help fuel his poor decisions, because without a second thought, he shoves the gameboard and all its pieces away, some scattering to the floor, and jumps to his feet and starts _running_.

He forgets about how much he hates this room now, forgets about the colour of the walls and the tacky lamp, because suddenly all his mind can think about, all that’s important, is Blaine.

Blaine manages to quietly close the door behind them, but then all rationality is gone, Blaine pushing Kurt onto his bed, quickly climbing up over top of him.

He pulls Blaine’s shirt off, hands shaking and arms feeling like melted rubber and it feels oddly similar to being intoxicated, loose and warm and buzzing.

Blaine’s hands are warm, sneaking under Kurt’s shirt and trailing over his stomach, and Kurt lets him feel around, because he can’t quite stop himself from exploring and memorizing the curve of Blaine’s shoulders, the muscles of his arms that twist and flex, can’t stop from looking at his stomach or his chest.

Blaine finally yanks Kurt’s shirt off, tossing it to the floor and then leaning in, not spending any time with kissing Kurt’s lips, but rather his neck, down, his collarbones, down, his nipples, and then back up again, latching on to the sensitive skin along Kurt’s neck and shoulder and sucking.

Leaving hickeys, Kurt supposes, but he almost wants them, wants dark purple bruises all along his body, wants Blaine to leave them everywhere.

Free of gel, he can finally twist and pull at Blaine’s curls, bucking his hips up and grinding against whatever part of Blaine he can reach. But not even the burning want and need and emptiness down there can wash out the fire in his heart, the irritation he feels from quitting.

“We’re continuing that game first thing tomorrow morning,” he says to the ceiling, out of breath already, closing his eyes tight when Blaine starts to nip at the mark he just sucked.

Blaine laughs gruffly, finds a new spot to start working on. “You kinda shoved the board off the table. We’ll have to restart.”

Kurt manages to shrug. “That’s fine by me.”

Blaine sighs, bites Kurt gently again. “Will you ever learn to quit?”

“Will you ever learn to keep your stuff on your side of the room?”

Blaine pulls back, sitting over top of Kurt, and frowns. “This is my room, remember?”

Kurt’s hands slide down and hold Blaine’s hips, matching his frown. “Says who?”

“Says my mom!”

He closes his eyes and tightens his grip, mutters quickly, “Don’t - don’t talk about your mom right now.”

Blaine smirks, and leans back down, whispers right in Kurt’s ear, “What should I talk about then? How much you like this?”

He keeps his eyes closed, keeps muttering, “Shut up shut up shut up -”

“Be honest with me, Kurt. Were you dreaming of this every night?”

“Blaine.”

“Because I was.”

“Oh god - Blaine -” He flips them both over, rolls so he’s on top of Blaine, and starts to push down his pants, thin soft material, so he can feel how hard Blaine is against him, and god he just wants so much - “Just - fuck me already.”

Blaine stills, entire face blanking, his eyes slowly widening. “Wait, what?”

He grabs Blaine’s hand and guides his arm back, placing his hand over the round of his ass, trying not to gasp at how it feels to just have Blaine’s large hand there, covering him and grabbing and kneading at his skin.

Blaine gets it, helping Kurt kick the rest of his clothes off, kicking off his own, putting his hands back on Kurt’s ass and spreading him, rocking his hips up so his cock slides against the back of Kurt.

He doesn’t mind this, the tease of it, how obscene and dirty it feels to have his cheeks spread by the blunt head of Blaine’s cock, how wet with precome it already is. But it’s not enough.

“Here,” he hisses, taking Blaine’s hand and guiding it up, sliding two of Blaine’s fingers into his mouth, moaning because it feels so good to be filled, even if just a little. He slips them out, covered in spit, and guides his hand back.

Blaine doesn’t need any more direction, using one hand to steady Kurt’s waist and pull him forward, chest to chest, the other hand sliding over Kurt’s ass, finding his hole and brushing his wet fingers against it.

“You’re serious?”

Kurt holds his breath and nods, rocking himself up and down, trying to get Blaine to touch him again. “Completely.”

Blaine presses his finger, just one, directly against Kurt’s hole, too dry now but Kurt gasps and drops his head, rocking back against it. And it’s like Blaine just wants to tease Kurt, never pressing hard enough to enter, just gently stroking over his rim, making Kurt clench down on nothing, over and over and over -

“We need -” he gasps, looking around, suddenly afraid he might not get what he wants.

“Nightstand,” Blaine says, reading Kurt’s mind, and Kurt looks over to the nightstand that was definitely not there four months ago.

“When did you -?”

“It’s _my_ room, Kurt.”

He gets off Blaine, muttering to himself as he slides open one of the drawers, rifles through it but only finds a bottle of lube.

“Blaine,” he says between clenched teeth, throwing the bottle at Blaine’s head and narrowly missing. “You don’t have condoms.”

“What?” Blaine yelps, getting up and clambering across the bed, madly shuffling through the drawer. “I swear - they’re here somewhere -”

“I can’t believe this.”

“I’ll get some, I promise.”

“I hate you.”

Blaine turns to Kurt and squeaks, “How was I supposed to know?”

He turns and sits on the bed, naked and angry and this was not how he thought his night would go, and he can’t help but pout because this sucks. “Whatever.”

Blaine puts a hand over his shoulder, pushing him down and guiding him until he’s flat on his back.

“Just turn over. I know what to do.” He doesn’t want to move, but then Blaine presses his lips right underneath his ear and whispers, “Let me pay you back.”

So he turns onto his stomach, and the weight of Blaine’s body on top of him is enough to get him to let go of his frustration, no choice but to sigh out and breathe. He’s not sure what Blaine is planning, but he trusts him, trusts how he trails down his back, pecking little kisses here and there, hands gentle as they slide down Kurt’s sides.

“Remember,” Blaine says, lips pressed to the spot above his tailbone. “Be quiet.”

Before he can respond, before he can even think what Blaine could mean by that, he’s being spread apart by Blaine’s hands, and before he can even gasp at that, Blaine’s tongue is on him.

How is he supposed to stay quiet when Blaine’s doing that? Licking at him with gentle swipes using the flat of his tongue, fingers digging into the flesh of his cheeks, feeling like only a fraction of what he needs but still so good.

“Was - was this also part of your plan?” Kurt asks, face pressed into the crook of his elbow, knees sliding along the bed to part himself more.

“Not really,” Blaine mumbles, voice and breath ghosting over Kurt’s hole, following up with his tongue. “I originally just really wanted to win that game.”

“God,” Kurt sighs, dropping his forehead down, cradling his face with both arms. “I like to think I’m the one who’s winning.”

Blaine squeezes his ass, gives his hole a long, slow lick, and makes a disagreeing sound. “Nope. Still me.”

One of Blaine’s hands moves, slides up the back of Kurt’s thigh, and Kurt locks his body down in anticipation, praying and hoping that Blaine will touch him somewhere with it.

And then Blaine spits, the noise ringing in Kurt’s ears, registering that well before he feels the wetness drip down his ass, over his hole, down to his balls where he’s aching, literally aching to just be touched, at least once.

Blaine ignores his cock, maybe on purpose or maybe because he really is just fixated on Kurt’s ass, and starts to rub three fingertips around Kurt’s rim, pressing down but only to cause pressure, not to push inside. Kurt bucks backwards, desperate to have something inside of him but not wanting to ask for it, not from Blaine.

“So, hypothetically speaking, if I were to buy condoms, you’d still want to have sex?” Blaine asks, so easily and out of nowhere that Kurt turns his head, looks over his shoulder to where Blaine is pumping his cock with one hand, stroking over Kurt’s hole with the other. “Even without the blackmail?”

That makes this - Blaine’s hand on himself and his hand on Kurt’s ass and his saliva dripping down Kurt’s open hole - sound so much dirtier, filthier, because they’re brothers, and this wouldn’t (shouldn’t) be happening, if it weren’t for the blackmail. Or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself.

“If you don’t put those fingers to good use you can forget all about it,” Kurt snaps, and brings his own hand back to join Blaine’s, impatient, but Blaine just bats his hand away and continues teasing him.

“I won’t actually tell anybody Kurt, you know that, right?”

“Kind of hard to trust somebody who told his grandma that his step-brother and his real brother wanted to get married,” Kurt grumbles, moving his hand around to work on his own cock, out of Blaine’s reach hopefully.

Just when he’s got his hand around himself, there are stronger, rougher hands on his chest, pulling him backwards. He yelps a little, but Blaine’s arms wrap around him and haul him up, back, onto his lap, and his voice is right there in his ear, whispering, “So is that a yes?”

Blaine’s cock bumps his tailbone, thrilling Kurt with just how close he is, so he rocks back, spreads himself by rising up on his knees, back down, and Blaine’s cock fits right between his cheeks, a tight fit but perfect, dirty and frantic as Kurt rocks down and Blaine rocks up.

“A hypothetical yes,” Kurt breathes, eyes closing, mouth falling open.

He can’t actually say no, not when the head of Blaine’s cock catches on his hole and feels so inexplicably wonderful that he almost passes out.

“Good.”

Blaine’s hand joins his, sliding more roughly and quickly than Kurt’s hand is, his lips wet and hot at the back of Kurt’s neck, and he feels like he’s being pulled apart all over, like he’s about to snap in half and he’s just waiting for Blaine to break him.

He could never actually say no, no matter how much he hates him.

Blaine takes over, one arm wrapped tight around his stomach, the other pumping over his cock, taking control of their rhythm as they rock against one another, and Kurt’s never felt so scared and untethered but he finds it’s completely okay if it’s Blaine.

Blaine bites down on his neck, gentle but still hard enough to leave a mark, and Kurt realizes he’s doing it to keep quiet as he comes. He’s never felt anybody come against his ass before, Blaine’s cock pulsing between Kurt’s cheeks, the mess of it hot and wet and heavy along Kurt’s lower back, spreading further whenever Blaine pushes his cock forward.

It’s the hottest, wrongest thing Kurt’s ever felt and he can’t hold on anymore, covering his own mouth as he comes into Blaine’s hand, wanting to shout Blaine’s name more than anything else.

He’s so thankful Blaine’s holding him, or else he might fall to pieces, leaning forward and trying to breathe, both of Blaine’s arms wrapped around his middle, Blaine’s face pressed to the top of Kurt’s back as they both pant heavily.

“Jeez,” Blaine says a little roughly, slowly pulling back. “I think you ruined your bed.”

Kurt cracks an eye open and looks down at the soiled blanket, then breaks out of Blaine’s embrace and hits him on the leg. “This was all you!”

“Kurt, really, it’s okay!” Blaine laughs as Kurt crosses his arms and glares. “You can sleep in my bed tonight.”

He huffs angrily and grabs a pillow, turning around and swinging it at Blaine.

“No chance, you can have the couch.”

-

He wakes up in Blaine’s bed, with Blaine nowhere in sight. Good. That’s good.

Kind of. He almost hoped that he’d come back up. It’s good that he didn’t though.

Right?

Outside of their bedroom, nothing has changed. The halls still look the same, the family portraits still line the walls, Pam is singing off-key down in the kitchen and his dad is watching the morning news and Blaine and Cooper are arguing over who gets the last frozen chocolate chip waffle.

Nothing has changed.

His dad doesn’t mention anything out of the ordinary, just asking who eventually won Monopoly.

Blaine cuts in, popping his head into the living room to shout, “I did!” before going back to his war over the waffle.

How did they not hear them? Kurt’s positive that they were both far too loud, that the bed must have squeaked a dozen times, that their thunderous footsteps up the stairs must have been a dead giveaway, but yet -

It’s normal. Completely and entirely normal.

Blaine sips his coffee too loud, just like he always has, and doesn’t look at Kurt weirdly or knowingly or even at all, really.

That’s how the next few days go, too. Once his bedding has been washed and they’re back to sharing a room, they don’t even really talk to each other before falling asleep, don’t ever mention what took place on Kurt’s bed and what could _still_ take place on Kurt’s bed.

So he accepts it, even though he knows it’s not really completely normal. He rolls with it and pretends alongside Blaine.

Even if he finds himself staring at Blaine a little too long sometimes, thinking about how his hands felt, how his tongue felt, that brief hot moment where his cock pressed so perfectly against Kurt and how he still wants more.

Just one more week and he’ll be free.

One more week.

-

Christmas dinner is pleasant, as insane as it is.

They don’t have two separate dinners for each side of the family, no, because that would just be _crazy_. They have both sides over, in one little house, and Kurt can’t quite get over his fear of Blaine tapping his glass with a knife and then announcing to everyone that he knows what Kurt’s ass tastes like.

He doesn’t do that, thankfully. Not yet.

Cooper sits next to him, including him in every conversation he starts, being the star of the party with all his jokes and stories about Hollywood, and the uneasiness of being one small soul in a room full of bigger souls settles, and he soon finds himself laughing and joking and even singing a little.

Blaine sits at the end of the table, and Kurt tries not to look his way because he might feel the urge to throw mashed potatoes at him. But then he looks, and Blaine’s staring at him, a frown set across his face as he taps his fork anxiously against the table.

He’s not sure why Blaine’s doing that, so he looks away and ignores him.

They’re the two youngest family members, so dish duty is given to them. They manage to work together without fighting for what shapes up to be an impressive amount of time, clearing through the counter that’s stacked high with plates and cutlery.

Until Blaine looks at him, sleeves rolled up and soap bubbles coating his forearms, and asks, “You don’t actually like Cooper, do you?”

Kurt’s hand goes tight around the plate he’s holding, so he drops it back into the sink and frowns. “He’s my brother. Why wouldn’t I?”

Blaine closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No, no, like - you and me. You don’t like him like that. Right?”

It’s the first time Blaine’s brought it up since it happened, and Kurt feels his whole face burn hot, quickly looking back to the sink and grabbing the plate again, furiously scrubbing it.

“I don’t like you either, Blaine,” he says calmly, annoyed with a spot of food that won’t seem to come off. “You should know that by now.”

“Well I don’t believe th-”

“Blaine!” he shouts, waving the plate in Blaine’s face, sending soap suds everywhere. “You have to soak the plates first! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Blaine sighs and throws his hands up before planting them on his hips. “You know, technically I’m the oldest here. You’re a month younger than me. You should be doing the dishes.”

Kurt takes a handful of soap bubbles, shakes them in Blaine’s direction and spits out, “Well at least I’m taller.”

“That has nothing to do with this!”

“Just soak the plates, Blaine!”

Blaine spins towards his side of the sink and starts running the water, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, “I can’t wait until you’re gone.”

Kurt copies him, turning sharply away from him, his whole face twisting with his scowl.

“You have no idea.”

-

He can’t find his watch.

As he packs, he thinks maybe he just left it somewhere, maybe he took it off somewhere before showering and it got moved around. His flight leaves in twelve hours and he can’t leave without that watch, it’s his favourite, seriously, where did it go?

He unpacks his entire suitcase and refolds everything twice, determined to find it, it couldn’t have gone far, it has to be around here somewhere -

Blaine.

Why didn’t he think of that first?

“Blaine!” he shouts, bitter and resentful, getting up on his feet and moving to Blaine’s side of the room, picking up his clothes and flinging them in every direction. “I know you took it! Where is it?”

He starts pulling drawers out of Blaine’s dresser, quickly searching through his clothes before shoving the drawers back in, working his way up until he gets to Blaine’s underwear and sock drawer. He grits his teeth as he looks through it, not wanting to touch anything for too long.

It’s not his watch that he finds.

An unopened box of condoms, not even hiding really, just there for anyone to see if they were to look into this drawer.

His heart drops, his stomach twists, his whole face goes hot.

Footsteps thunder down the hall, recognizably Blaine’s, and he hears the door frame crack as Blaine leans on it. “What?”

Kurt clears his throat, presses his legs together, and says raspily, “I’m just - looking for my watch. I know you hid it.”

“Not in there,” Blaine says, casually. “But yeah, I did.”

Kurt turns around to face him, holding the condoms, and Blaine’s smug expression drops, face darkening then going pale, but he just shrugs.

“I did promise, didn’t I?”

Kurt shakes his head and tosses the box towards his bed, getting back on the floor to search through his suitcase one more time, ignoring the heat he suddenly feels everywhere and the way Blaine’s still staring at him.

“I-I can’t leave without that watch.”

He can feel the exact second that Blaine stops looking at him, but relief doesn’t follow.

“Well good luck finding it,” Blaine says, stepping out of the room. “Let me know if you want any hints.”

-

The rest of the night drags on. He just wants to get out of here and leave and never think about Blaine like this ever again.

He just keeps thinking of that night, that promise, that need that burned him up and was never put out.

He thinks about Blaine going out and buying condoms with the hope of what would happen, what could have happened (what shouldn’t happen but so very much should happen). He thinks of getting on his knees for Blaine and letting Blaine in, and after he thinks that, he has to stop packing, has to go splash cold water on his face and try to breathe and ignore the ache.

Why didn’t Blaine tell him about it? Does he not want that anymore? Is that why he’s been so silent? He must regret what they’ve done.

Kurt should too, but he can’t. He just wants . . . more.

Sometime after midnight, when the rest of their family has gone to bed, Blaine strolls back into the room, looking so innocent and unknowing.

“Still can’t find it?” he asks, watching as Kurt hastily shoves his belongings back into his suitcase for the tenth time.

“No, and I can’t _kill you_ over it because you’re the only living soul who knows where it is.”

Blaine drops down onto Kurt’s bed, bouncing a little, then he locks eyes with Kurt and sighs, digging into his pocket and pulling out the watch.

“Here.”

Kurt sighs, snatches the watch away from Blaine and tosses it in his suitcase. “In your pants, really?”

Blaine shrugs. “Thought it might be the first place you looked.”

“Is there anything else you hid?”

“You’ll find out once you’re back in New York.”

He starts to shake his head, frustrated, and closes up his suitcase while muttering, “You’re twenty years old, Blaine, I think we can cut the childish games.”

“I’m not playing a game, Kurt.”

“Alright, I’ll pretend to believe that,” Kurt says, getting up and moving his suitcase closer to the door. “You’re the one paying for postage when you have to send everything back to me.”

“Maybe you should just stay,” Blaine says, a bit questioningly, laughing as he bounces again on the bed. “Maybe I don’t want you to go.”

“Maybe that’s because you want to ruin my life further,” Kurt says, eyes rolling. “Thanks for reminding me why it’s a bad idea to visit for more than a week at a time.”

“Stay at a hotel next time.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Or just don’t come back at all.”

“Maybe I won’t!”

“Fine with me,” Blaine snaps, hands up in the air. “I’ll finally get the whole room to myself.”

Kurt rubs over his eyes and growls, “You’re infuriating.”

“Yeah, well you’re no prize either!”

He holds onto the door, ready to run through it and slam it behind him, but this is his room too so he doesn’t actually have anywhere else to go. The clock on the nightstand says it’s late, too late, he has to wake up in a few hours to catch his plane and he’s _tired_.

“Seriously Blaine, if there’s anything else you’ve hidden tell me right now, or you’ll pay for it.”

He realizes that most of their conversations end in some sort of threat, but this time he means it.

Blaine smirks, head tilting to the side. “How?”

“How what?”

“How would you make me pay?”

His grip on the door tightens, ready to break the wood and scream. His eyes feel like they’re going to melt out of his head, and his heart is racing as he shouts, “I’m not playing this game with you, Blaine!”

Blaine quickly stands up, the bed creaking slightly, his eyes suddenly serious and hard and he closes the door, pushing Kurt back against it without actually touching him.

“It’s not a game,” Blaine says, quietly, shuffling a little bit closer.

He’s not sure where Blaine’s going with this, his hips pressing gently against Kurt’s, his body close and warm but there’s nothing frantic about it, no crazed, desperate heat. Just Blaine’s body against his, and Kurt really doesn’t want him to pull away.

“Blaine . .”

“Come on. Before you have to leave. Just - please.”

A word that Blaine’s never really said to Kurt, not genuinely.

He has to smile, and he looks up at the ceiling because looking directly at Blaine’s face makes him want to speed this up, into fast and crazy and reckless.

“This is absurd. You do realize how crazy this is.”

Blaine smiles. “I do. I just don’t care.”

It’s kind of too late to say no. He could, of course he could, but he’d be saying no for reasons that have kind of already happened. Like the fact that this isn’t something he should be doing with his step-brother, when, well . . . he already has.

“I don’t either.”

Blaine’s smile turns into a grin, and he grabs Kurt’s face and kisses him, pulling back with a smack and saying, “Great, because buying those condoms with your dad a few feet away from me nearly crushed my soul.”

“You didn’t.”

“I don’t think he noticed.”

“If he did you’d be dead by now.”

“I realize,” Blaine says, laughing a bit. And then it’s quiet, no words no sounds, just Blaine looking down between them and then back up, hand trailing underneath Kurt’s sweater. “. . I wasn’t sure if you still wanted this.”

Kurt holds his breath, then sighs, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

He immediately regrets it when Blaine smirks victoriously.

“Knew it.”

He doesn’t get to smack Blaine or come up with some sort of insult in retaliation, because Blaine starts pressing him so hard against the door it makes a cracking sound, but neither of them pay attention to it, just focused on getting their lips on each other wherever they can.

It’s risky, only one layer of wood separating them from the rest of the house, from their family, from their _parents_ , and if anyone knew or if anyone walked in or heard -

It’s risky but he can’t get himself to care, can only focus on one thought, one name, one person - Blaine.

He thinks about Blaine and Blaine’s cock and how it had felt so good and how it’s going to feel now and his hole clenches, his legs shake, anticipation and need coursing in his frenzied blood.

“No teasing this time,” Kurt says, coming out as a plea, hands scrabbling at Blaine’s back as Blaine ruts over his leg, moaning into Kurt’s neck. “Just - just fuck me.”

Blaine pulls back, hits the light switch, starts to walk them towards the bed and pushes Kurt down.

“We’ll see.”

He hates Blaine, honestly.

He watches from the bed as Blaine pulls his own shirt off, kicks off his pants and boxers while opening up the box of condoms, giving the box a quick kiss before shoving it into the nightstand.

“It’s staying, by the way,” Blaine says, knocking on the wooden top of the nightstand.

Kurt pauses taking off his own pants, looks at the nightstand and then at Blaine and smiles. “I don’t mind it actually. Good for storage. For next time.”

“Next - oh god, Kurt.”

Blaine all but jumps onto the bed, resting up against the headboard and pulling at Kurt’s waist, guiding him up and onto his lap, and this position feels so familiar, their chests pressing together, Blaine’s cock sliding right where Kurt wants it.

They smile at each other, for the first time nervous and a bit hesitant, and Kurt nods, nudges his nose against Blaine’s, and that seems to encourage Blaine. He slides his hands up and down Kurt’s sides, then back and back and back until he’s grabbing at Kurt’s ass, spreading it and kneading it and rocking Kurt forward.

Blaine doesn’t actually tease him this time, fingers slick with lube as they trace over Kurt’s hole before pushing in, one, and after a pause, two. He’s grateful, because he just wants more, as much as he can have, and regretful, because it’s so much all at once and it stings, but in the best possible way.

He’s not sure what to do with his lips or his hands. Does he talk to Blaine or kiss him or touch him somewhere?

Blaine answers his question by leaning forward, tilting his head up and opening his lips for Kurt, and Kurt melts into it, kisses him back. Nothing passionate or desperate, just messy and careless and slow, because they’re both too focused on other things to concentrate on something as simple as a kiss. Blaine’s still fingering him, with carefully timed thrusts in, and slow stinging drags out.

Then Blaine tries to add another finger, and Kurt gasps, breaks off their kiss to tip his forehead against Blaine’s to try and catch his breath, to try and focus. He reaches behind him, not to control Blaine’s hand but to just feel it.

“Okay?” Blaine asks, his voice harsh, surprising Kurt.

He nods, breathes back, “Yeah.”

“Still ticklish?”

He jerks his head up and looks at Blaine with wide eyes. “What?”

Blaine answers him this time by taking his free hand and running it over Kurt’s ribs, fingers dancing lightly across his skin, poking him gently in the sides where he’s especially sensitive. He laughs, throws his head back and swats at Blaine and pleads, “ _Blaine_ \- stop stop -”

Blaine laughs back, loud and warm and happy, and thankfully complies, pulling Kurt back down for another kiss, finally adding that third finger.

Time once again begins to cease existing, no seconds or minutes, only gasps and soft breaths, only their bodies rocking together, just Blaine’s fingers and the faint feeling of urgency, building and building.

“No teasing, remember?” Kurt whispers, nipping at Blaine’s earlobe when Blaine takes his fingers out, only to start rubbing them around Kurt’s rim.

Blaine whispers back, “I never actually promised.”

“Blaine, please.”

“Wait.”

“Don’t tell me to wait.”

“Just did.”

“Blaine -”

“Fine, okay,” Blaine huffs, sitting up and pushing Kurt further back on his lap, reaching for their condom, kissing Kurt on the lips as he puts it on.

He was mostly calm before, but now that this is actually happening, he’s beginning to freak out. His heart is racing faster than it has all night, his hands not sure where to settle on Blaine’s body, travelling up from Blaine’s sides to his shoulders to just wrapping his arms around Blaine’s neck and letting Blaine guide their bodies.

He can’t.

He’s entirely sure that he can’t. His body won’t let him, his mind wants to so badly, but he can’t, because how could he? Blaine’s so - a lot bigger than his fingers, that’s for sure, the head of his cock blunt and wide and pushing at Kurt’s hole and he can’t, too tense, breathing too harsh, gasping too loud.

Blaine cradles the back of Kurt’s head, petting over his hair and keeping his face pressed close to his neck, whispering, “Kurt, we have to be quiet -”

Kurt frantically shakes his head as Blaine starts sinking in, not saying no to him or to this, but because he’s so overwhelmed and he doesn’t know what else to do with his body. “I - I can’t.”

“Come on, come on,” Blaine chants, louder than the way Kurt’s breathing, and if he could move his arms he’d pinch Blaine and tell _him_ to be quiet.

And then he’s in, all in one quick rough wet push and Kurt closes his eyes tightly and gasps, fingernails digging into Blaine’s skin.

“Holy -”

“Shut up -”

“Kurt -”

“Blaine, just -”

He breathes against Blaine’s neck, inhales his scent, tries to calm his racing heart, trying to take in exactly how this feels, so full and so good and like _finally_ , finally finally finally.

This should be fast and frantic, like the first time, like the way his blood flows whenever he’s around Blaine, but it feels oddly slow, strangely calm, and maybe this is just how it’s meant to go.

“Are you going to move?” Blaine asks after a few moments of silence, his entire length settled inside of Kurt. “Or should I -”

He shakes his head and bites Blaine gently on the shoulder. “Stop talking.”

He starts moving before Blaine can, rising up and sinking down, only by a couple of inches at first, still tight and overwhelmed by the slightest brush inside of him, but then it settles, starts to feel good, starts to feel better, starts to feel like he’s being ignited from the inside. It’s like nothing he’s ever had to do before, having to stay quiet and contained, when all he wants to do is combust and yell Blaine’s name, yell at him to go faster, harder.

They don’t. They go slow, careful, like Blaine’s trying to go deeper with every thrust.

All he can hear is Blaine’s breathing, harsh through his nose. His lips are pressed together, eyes calculating on Kurt but still shining, in a way that they never have before, and Kurt frowns, able to think through the clouds in his mind that Blaine shouldn’t be making that face.

“What?” he asks, dazed, vision fuzzy, heartbeat loud in his ears. “Stop - stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m completely serious,” Blaine says, sounding entirely put together. “I don’t want you to go.”

He’s about ask _what?_ again, but Blaine cuts him off by grabbing his hips, lifting him up and pushing him onto his back, and the loss of his body is not something Kurt wants to feel, feeling lost suddenly without Blaine, but then he’s back, lifting and pushing Kurt’s legs and sinking back in.

More in control, Kurt thinks distantly, but he doesn’t kick at Blaine or push him away, he lets go, lets him be in control.

It’s too hard and too fast and he can’t stay quiet when one second all of Blaine is inside of him and the next second he’s gone, shocking Kurt so much every time that he has to cry out, he has to moan, he has to breathe loudly.

“Blaine - don’t stop - don’t -”

Blaine leans forward and covers Kurt’s body, the new angle shifting him in deeper, right where Kurt needs him, so he locks his legs around Blaine and keeps him there.

“Because haven’t you - noticed that when you leave -” Blaine pants, lips trailing up Kurt’s neck until he gets to Kurt’s ear. “When you leave, you kinda forget - that I exist. And when you come back - you - you hate me.”

Kurt shakes his head violently, the back of his head rubbing hard against the bed, and he clutches at Blaine’s shoulders, wants him closer, wants him everywhere.

“I don’t hate you.”

That’s a lie, sort of, because sometimes he does, but it’s not really Blaine who he hates, he just hates what Blaine does to him because - because -

“Are you sure?”

Blaine sounds so worried and so scared that it makes something hurt in Kurt’s chest.

“I’m sure - just don’t - stop.”

Blaine’s thrusts pick up, less angry and demanding, and more . . giddy, energetic, jolting Kurt further up the bed. “Okay, I’m holding you to that. Promise?”

“Promise what?”

“You can’t hate me and you can’t - forget me.”

He nods, claws at Blaine’s back and pulls him closer, says against his ear, “I won’t.”

After that, whatever that was, they just go faster, no more rhythm or finesse, both of them louder than they should be. He should be quiet, he knows that, but the urge and the need he still feels _everywhere_ overpowers that thought.

“Not gonna last,” Blaine sighs, dropping his forehead to Kurt’s.

He pushes Blaine’s curls away from his face, their bodies very nearly stuck together with sweat, and he laughs lightly, says back, “I will - longer than you -”

Blaine hums in disagreement, pants hard and loud against Kurt’s face, then clenches his teeth and groans, “I’ll take that challenge.”

Blaine moves faster, no more timed thrusts, but now fast short jerks, grinding down deep inside of Kurt, and as wonderful as it feels to have that spot hit over and over, he thinks it’s only going to make Blaine lose first. Blaine grunts, digs his nails into Kurt’s hips, curses and cusses and swears and doesn’t let up, eventually just sneaking a hand down and wrapping it around Kurt’s cock.

Playing dirty, but Kurt doesn’t care, not when he’s being fucked by Blaine and being jerked off by Blaine and everything is Blaine just Blaine only Blaine -

He lets Blaine win this time, not that he has a choice, falling apart and breaking, and Blaine’s there to pick up every single piece.

Everyone in the world must hear him as he cries out, and he hastily covers his mouth with his arm and starts to come across his stomach, Blaine’s fist, jerking upwards as he’s pulled back onto Blaine’s cock.

“See?” Blaine laughs roughly, hips beginning to slow. “Told you.”

That seems to be all that Blaine can take, quickly dropping his body down to Kurt’s and giving out, giving up, coming inside of him and Kurt almost wishes he could actually feel it. Blaine’s body jolts against his, hips twitching forward, burying himself that much further inside of Kurt until he finally finishes, breathing loud and fast and hot and wet against Kurt’s shoulder.

It’s a strange feeling to come down from, still feeling high and alive, but exhausted and worn, sated and happy and just - content. Like Blaine’s touch is all over him, his hands everywhere, like Blaine just created a bruise that will never fade.

To make sure Kurt doesn’t forget him.

He smiles, pets Blaine’s hair, pushing the loose long curls away from his face again, and he knows he shouldn’t, that this should just be over now, but he leans forward, wincing through the pain, and kisses him. Not on the lips, nothing too passionate, just on the cheek, just on the spot where Blaine’s smile reaches.

Blaine laughs breathlessly, suddenly looking kind of bashful, long lashes fluttering as he blinks then looks away.

“A few - a few things to work on next time,” Blaine chokes out as he pulls away, poking Kurt in the side where he’s ticklish. “Please be careful with your nails, and try not to be so loud.”

He hits Blaine on the shoulder and shoves him. “Next time,” he says, eyes wide and alive and unable to look away from Blaine’s. “I’m going to win.”

Blaine rolls onto his back and laughs, head shaking up at the ceiling.

“Sure. Next time.”

-

Nobody notices.

Nobody says anything. Nothing out of the ordinary and nothing in the ordinary. Nothing.

Still, Kurt and Blaine make a good effort to not look each other in the eye that morning, just in case it shows, just in case somebody picks up on it. It feels like he’s wearing their secret all over his body, in the hickeys that cover his collarbone, in the way he moves, in the way he just _has_ to smile when he accidentally catches Blaine’s gaze.

But nobody notices.

It’s nice that even though it’s early in the morning, everyone wakes up to see him off. Cooper and Pam stand in their robes and winter boots, shivering as they give Kurt big hugs before running back to the house.

His dad motions to the truck, says something about starting her up, and then it’s just Blaine.

Which shouldn’t be so awkward, not after what they’ve done, but the thing is, they’ve never actually said goodbye to each other.

Blaine laughs, his smile so wide, breath coming out white between them in the frigid morning air, and then he opens up his arms, invites Kurt in.

With nobody else around, Kurt falls into it, into him, and wraps his arms around his chest as Blaine wraps his arms around his back, pulling him in close.

“Don’t forget, okay?” Blaine says, pulling back carefully, hands hesitating to leave Kurt’s back.

He doesn’t ask _forget what?_ because he knows, he can still feel it.

“I won’t.”

Blaine touches his arm, gives him one last smile, then skips back towards the house.

He won’t.

-

It’s a bit sad having to leave, but at least this way he’ll finally be able to breathe, won’t have to worry about Blaine or Blaine’s body or anything to do with Blaine, and he won’t have to worry about their family finding out about Blaine and his body and everything he’s done with Blaine.

Until next time, that is.

The sign for the airport comes into view, safety and freedom just a few minutes away, Kurt so anxious for it he’s close to bursting. But then his dad clears his throat, turns down the radio and looks at Kurt hesitantly, like he’s afraid.

And Kurt just knows.

“So, uh, we might have heard some, uh, interesting sounds last night,” his dad says, voice sounding mangled and twisted. “Not gonna pry, but I think it’s ‘bout time we get you your own room.”

He closes his eyes tight, thumps his head against the window and prays that their car will spontaneously flip over.

He _hates_ Blaine.

**Author's Note:**

> ((what does it say about me that I write fic on my birthday, and then on new year's eve? I need some friends))


End file.
